Kingston Stone bailed Alison Hayes out.

Alison lunged into his arms, sobbing, "Kingston, it was all Hector Barnes! He forced me! I’ll be good from now on, I promise. Let’s just start over, please?"

Kingston let her cling to him, but his gaze drifted over her shoulder toward the slate-gray sky, his eyes cold as ice. He didn’t take her to their marital home or a hotel. He drove to the outskirts of the city.

Alison felt a flicker of doubt, but seeing Kingston’s calm profile, she swallowed her unease, assuming he was merely avoiding the paparazzi. Finally, the car screeched to a halt in front of a derelict warehouse.

As the iron doors groaned open, Alison saw them—a group of gaunt, hollow-eyed men and women. When their collective gaze fixed upon her, the raw, bone-deep hatred in their eyes made her blood run cold.

"Kingston... who are these people?" she whimpered, shrinking behind him.

Kingston pried her fingers off his sleeve and shoved her forward. "Don't you remember them? These are the families of the girls you lured into Hector’s traps."

With every syllable, the color drained from Alison’s face. Her body began to shake uncontrollably. The names and faces she had spent months suppressing surged back, accompanied by the visceral, jagged hatred of the grieving families.

"No... it wasn’t me... I had nothing to do with it!" She shook her head frantically, trying to scramble backward, but the warehouse door had already slammed shut.

"Alison," Kingston said, his voice flat. "When you were helping Hector groom those girls, did you ever, even for a second, stop to think about their parents? Did you think about how their lives would be ruined? Did it ever occur to you that the day would come when you’d face this, too?"

"I didn't! I was forced! Kingston, you have to believe me!"

Alison broke down, screaming, reaching for him, but he stepped aside. Kingston stopped looking at her altogether. He gave a slight nod to the parents, whose eyes burned with agony, and walked out without a backward glance.

"No! Kingston! Don't leave me! Please! I know I was wrong! I’m sorry!"

Alison’s gut-wrenching screams were swallowed by the heavy steel door. Outside, Kingston leaned against the cold brick wall and lit a cigarette. He didn’t leave. He simply listened.

At first, there was the sharp bark of vitriol and Alison’s frantic pleas. Slowly, it dissolved into the chaotic thuds of fists and kicks, followed by Alison’s desperate, broken whimpers. Time blurred. Eventually, the sounds tapered off into an eerie, suffocating silence.

Kingston stubbed out his cigarette and pushed the door open.

Alison was curled into a ball on the filthy concrete, covered in welts and bruises, her face swollen beyond recognition. When she saw him, she dragged herself toward him, grabbing his pant leg with trembling hands. Her voice was a raspy wreck.

"Kingston... I’ve been punished... is it enough? Can you let me go now?"

Kingston looked down at her, his face a mask of indifference. "Alison, what you owe those girls—what you owe me—you couldn't repay in a dozen lifetimes." He kicked her off and brushed his pant leg as if clearing away filth. "I’ve already found you a perfect new home where you can spend the rest of your life atoning."

Under Alison’s horrified gaze, Kingston handed her over to the police waiting outside.

"She tried to escape and resisted arrest, so I had to ask for some help subduing her," he said casually.

The officer nodded. "Understood. That cancels your bail. You’ll be held in custody until the trial."

As she was dragged away, the look she gave him was a cocktail of pure terror and total collapse. Before she was hauled into the cruiser, Kingston leaned in and whispered like a demon, "Don't think jail is a sanctuary. I’ll make sure you’re 'well looked after.' I’ll make every day of your life a living hell."

She couldn't bear the thought of what lay ahead. Shaking violently, she looked up with her bloodied, battered face. "Kingston! I really love you! Please, don't leave me behind!"

Kingston didn't spare her a second look.

He drove home and retreated into his bedroom, drowning himself in liquor. Yet, no matter how much he numbed his brain, his thoughts circled back to Raven Sullivan. Was she laughing at him right now? He finished one bottle and reached for the next. Eventually, he collapsed on the floor.

His mother found him, shaking him awake with a bowl of soup, her expression torn between pity and fury. "Drink this. Once you're sober, go get Raven back."

His body stiffened. He turned his head away, his voice bone-dry. "Mom, don't talk about her. She never cared about me."

His father, who had been listening from the hallway, could take no more. He stormed in and delivered a stinging slap across Kingston’s face.

"You coward! Do you know who carried you down the mountain when you were burning up with that fever years ago?"

"It was Raven! She was pregnant with your child then! She dragged your dead weight down that mountain by herself!"

"You lived, but she miscarried! She suffered through hell for you, and you have the nerve to talk like that?!"

"Dad... what are you talking about?"

Kingston didn't even feel the sting on his cheek. His heart felt as though it had stopped, then began hammering against his ribs, ringing in his ears. He looked up at his father, his eyes wide and frantic. "You said Raven saved me? And she lost the baby? I thought she didn't want it!"

His mother’s eyes were rimmed with red as she shoved his forehead. "She was terrified that if you knew, you’d never forgive yourself! She lied and told you the pregnancy wasn't viable! You fool! She gave you her whole heart, and you let yourself be blinded by trashy women!"

Kingston froze.

How could it be true? He had checked the medical records at the time—everything had seemed fine. And yet, the baby was gone. He had always assumed she was the one who refused to be a mother.

"I..." he started, but no words came out.

His father let out a heavy, weary sigh. "I never liked that girl much, but after what she did for you, the Stone family owes her a debt we can never repay. Get up. Go find her. Kneel if you have to, and beg for forgiveness!"

Kingston knew his parents wouldn't lie about something like this. Raven had saved his life at the cost of their child. And what had he done for the past six months?

He’d pushed her away. He’d used other women to cut her open. He’d let his friends talk down to her. He’d sanctioned every insult. Every calculated act of cruelty now boomeranged back into his own chest, twisting like a serrated blade.

Regret washed over him, a suffocating tide that made his very lungs ache. He didn't care about anything else. He grabbed his keys and sprinted out the door.

He had to find her. He had to tell her he loved her. He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

But when he finally tracked down her new assignment, he was met with a cold reality:

"Officer Sullivan? She’s been reassigned. She’s no longer on the island."

"Reassigned?" Kingston’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the desk, his eyes bloodshot. "To where? Why the hell was she transferred?"

"Don't you know who's to blame?!"

A lean, sharp-faced officer—the one who had led the backup unit for Raven that night—stepped out. He grabbed Kingston by the collar, his eyes ablaze with protective fury.

"The Hector Barnes case was a success. Officer Sullivan was supposed to get a commendation and a promotion!"

"And what happened? Your sick, tabloid drama turned into a circus! That disgusting photo of you two was everywhere!"

"Headquarters had to pull her from the front lines to avoid the scandal! You destroyed years of her hard work!"

"Photo?" Kingston asked, bewildered. "What photo?"

"You pathetic piece of trash! Still playing dumb?"

The officer threw a punch, but his colleagues held him back. He gasped for air, shouting, "The private photos of you and Officer Sullivan! They were leaked everywhere! How do you think the gossip columns got so much material?"

"'Cop plays mistress to the elite'? With that kind of mud on her name, how could she stay in this city?!"

Private photos...

Kingston remembered them. He had taken them, but he had never intended for them to be public. It must have been Alison. Only she had access to his phone. He felt a sudden, sharp regret that his punishment for her hadn't been nearly brutal enough. He swore to himself that once she was out, he would make her life a thousand times worse than prison.

Forcing down the rage, he turned back to the desk officer, his voice desperate. "Where is she? Tell me!"

The officer looked conflicted, his lips moving as if to speak, but the furious lead officer cut him off with a roar.

"Kingston Stone! This is the Major Crimes Unit, not your private playground! Staff movement is classified. We owe you nothing. Get out!"

Kingston couldn't accept it. He couldn't let Raven vanish from his life. He felt like a beast trapped in a cage, stripping away his pride and his arrogance, resorting to begging, stalking, and pleading at every office that might have a lead.

Finally, it was his father, using the last of the family's influence, who found the answer:

"She’s been transferred to S-City to act as a liaison officer. If you’re going, go now."

S-City. Just across the bay.

He finally knew where she was. But the relief was followed by a chilling void. If he found her, what would he say? She must hate him. Would she even look at him?

Kingston stood on the bustling street, feeling as though the world had gone dark. It took a long time, but he pulled himself together.

He decided that at least he knew which direction to head. Regardless of the loathing or the ice he would face, he would find her. He would make her see that, from the very first day to this one, she was the only one he had ever wanted.